Worm snippets
by mercva
Summary: Just some ideas I have percolating.
1. Worm Mafia

Danny lay in his bed. Awake, and not wanting to be awake, feeling colder than he should be.

Even now, he still remembered how warm Annette felt against him.

The sound of the door opening and closing out from the front rang out in the stillness of the night.

He tried to get to sleep. But longstanding paranoia, born of a past he'd almost forgotten, pricked him.

The front door was locked. But now that he was up, he knew he'd worry until he'd checked everything.

The oven was turned off, as was the rest of the kitchen. (Stupid thing to worry about, but...)

All the downstairs windows were closed, and no creeping unwanted visitors.

Coming upstairs, the first thing he checked was wrong. Taylor was gone. His lanky, clever, so clever daughter.

Was... was she involved with a boy she felt he would disapprove of? Danny wished Annette was still here - she'd understand a teenage girl better than him. All he remembered of those years was how fascinating girls and what was under their clothes was. Which didn't reassure him.

He picked up the phone, and rang a well-remembered number. "Hi, Alan? Sorry for how late it is. Is Taylor there?

"No, she's just gone out, and I'm worried. Can you let me know if she does turn up? I'm sorry about how late it is. But not as late as those nights with too much Stoli."

They shared a laugh, before the two former students gave into the reality of their adult lives.

"Thanks. I'll be in touch."

Hanging up, he promptly dialed another number.

"Kurt? It's Danny, here. Sorry about how late it is, but have you seen Taylor? Yes, I'm worried it's a boy, but hopefully that's the worst of it. Okay, see you tomorrow if I don't hear from you before that."

Before Danny could dial someone else, the phone rang.

"Danny Hebert speaking.

"Is - she there?

"If you touch her-!

"I'll be there, alright."

Danny almost broke the handset with how hard he set it back onto the telephone's base receiver. Breathing heavily, he took control of himself before he considered things.

Pulling up a memory he thought he'd buried, he called someone he hadn't spoken to in more than a decade.

"Hello, Luigi, is Mister Salieri there? It's Daniel Hebert speaking.

"Hello, sir, I still hold you in the highest respect.

"No, sir, I'm calling on behalf of the daughter of the one good reason to retire.

"She's in some trouble. Mr Salieri, I want to ask that, if I don't call you two days from now, that you'll look after my daughter. You're still in my will.

"Old habits die hard, I guess. For reference, I'm off to see a would-be German king."

Danny hung up the phone, and walked up to his bedroom. Opening the wardrobe, he pushed all his clothes (not that many, to be honest) hard to the left, and then pushed all of Annette's pretty clothes there as well.

He still couldn't bring himself to get rid of them. The current justification was that, in ten years (or twenty, or thirty) Taylor might want them.

He pulled out the garment bag, laying on the bed and opening it.

The suit was not Kenzo, or Armani, or Brooks Brothers. It had been made by an old man in a family business. Young Paulie had recommended Giovanni to him, and if old Giovanni was good enough for Don Salieri, he was good enough for Danny. Danny quickly got changed into the grey three piece suit, with a clean white shirt. He didn't bother with a tie.

Danny then opened the bottom drawer in his bedside cabinet, laying out the Colt 1911 on the bed, as well as the sawn-off. Annette had never approved of either, but she had also recognised that Brockton Bay was not a civilized city, which was why he also unlocked her bottom bedside cabinet, ignoring all the keepsakes with a pain in his heart.

He loaded the two barrels of his lupara, and put a magazine into the 1911, before pocketing more ammunition in his suit, and then walking down to his worn old truck.

* * *

Two nondescript cars pulled up outside a very rundown house. They weren't black sedans, or Crown Vics - they were just two cars, colours faded by time, dust, and too much exposure.

Three men got out of them, all Italian, all in decent clothes, but not expensive.

"Sam, wait out here. I wanna introduce Tom to Stinky Jim," one of them said.

"Alright, Paulie," Sam said, pulling out a cigarette from a packet and lighting it up.

As Paulie strode up to the door and knocked, he commented to Tom. "Tom, this is Stinky Jim. He knows near anything about this godawful town. But don't tell the Don we visited him - Don Salieri is still angry about the last time he met ol' shitface."

"Shitface?!" the third man, Tom, asked incredulously.

"Skidmark," Paulie said. "And yeah, that's the name the sick bastard goes by-Jim!"

Paulie cut himself off as an unbelievably smelly man opened the door (that, in all honesty, should probably have fallen down already from decay.)

"Rob-no. M-no. Uh... Paul?" the man asked uncertainly.

"Sure," Paulie said. "That's who I am. I want ta know what you heard about Danny."

"Danny?" Stinky Jim asked. He blinked, twice, before trying to pull himself together. "Uh... you mean Danny the Union guy? The one who everyone talking about?"

"That's him," Paulie said. He pulled out a crisp envelope. "I ain't giving you no goddamn drugs, but I will give you a little something if you tell me what they been saying."

"Sure," Jim said, eyes now following the bleached white rectangle. "He whacked fucking HOOKWOLF! Hookwolf, of all the goddamn capes in this town! Double barrel shotgun, point blank, no warning, just bushwhacked the guy!"

"Where they holding him?"

"Corner of Nelson and Ray," Jim said, eyes still following the envelope. "Word is, the dude's daughter is locked up there, too."

"WHAT?!" Paulie roared. "That's goin' TOO far!"

"Totally, man," Jim answered, swaying a bit. "I never agreed with that whole fuckin' Skidmark thing, kidnapnapnapnap... uh... stealin' people and shootin' them up with no choice. But, uh.. er... um..."

"Thanks, Jim, you been a real pal," Paulie said, slapping the envelope of money against Stinky Jim's chest. "You ever wanna clean up and live a decent life, you just ask for me."

"I ain't that far gone," Jim said indignantly, previously shaky hands suddenly gaining perfect proprioception, grasping the envelope, and tucking it into his clothes, before reverting to shaking and taking several tries to grab something. "Take care man."

"You too," Paulie said, mostly out of habit. "C'mon, Tom."

* * *

"Okay," Paulie said. "Sam, you an' Tommy pick up Danny an' Annette's daughter. I'll grab Danny. Remember, baseball bats. Kaiser gonna be pissed already, we don't need any more corpses than we already got."

* * *

"Paulie," Sam said urgently, "the kid was on some kind of drip."

Paulie stopped to think for awhile. "Okay, ring th' Don now, an' I mean right now. Tell him that. When we're drivin' back, if she's in trouble, I want you to stop at the best time and fix that. I'll follow you with Danny."

* * *

Taylor woke up slowly, by degrees. She slowly started to see a woman, with a man with a strong resemblance. The building had a lot of insects, but compared to most, less than normal.

She brought them to attention.

The woman noticed her attentiveness first.

"Taylor?" she asked. "I'm Sarah, and this is my father, Luigi."

"Nice to meet you," Taylor said, cagily. "Where am I?"

"In a safe place," Sarah said carefully. "You're above Don Salieri's bar."

"Would you like to meet Mr Salieri, and your father, Miss Hebert?" Luigi asked. His voice was as soft as tissue paper.

"Please," Taylor said carefully.

* * *

"Before we go any further," Salieri began. He was a mildly heavily built Italian-American man, in a small bar that he owned. "You should know, Danny, your house got firebombed by that asshole Kaiser."

"Fi-fi-firebombed?" Danny stuttered. "But... all our..."

"I know," Salieri said. "I ain't fond of people ruinin' my stuff neither."

"Why... why are we here?" Taylor asked, bravely.

"Put simply, your old man used'ta work for me," Salieri said. "You got kidnapped, kid. The Empire Eighty Eight, those filthy damn nazi's, got the drop on ya. They stuck ya onna sedative drip. Now, my doc, Doctor Nasi, no relation to those dickheads, he says you'll be fine. But Danny, your old man, he didn't know that, and he knocked off Hookwolf to send a message to those coprophiliacs. As a result, Kaiser decided to send a public message by publicly executing him. I took exception to that, and sent Danny's old workmates to help him out."

"Bu... wha..."

"Now, kid," Salieri continued. "It's public knowledge among, shall we say, the less public people in society that you are... unusual. If I might enquire, what is your power?"

"... bug control," Taylor said absently, still in shock. "I can control all the bugs. For at least two blocks."

The older Italian-American man stopped at that pronouncement. After a minute, he spoke. "No matter what happens, kid, I want to hire you, for a price of your asking, to remove all the bugs from my property, and the people I look after, and to stop 'em comin' back. Ask your price."

"Don Salieri, are we in Lost Heaven?" Danny asked.

"As it happens, we aren't," the Don replied. "I bought some property in Brockton Bay, and I'm making a wedding present of it to Tommy an' Sarah."

"Si-sir?!" an unfamiliar voice stuttered. "This... this's too much!"

"Trust me, it ain't free," Salieri snorted. "Sam here will be my right hand in this Godforsaken town. Paulie's stayin' with me. Tommy, you're gonna be takin' care of business here, with Sarah, at least until she's busy."

"Busy?" Tommy asked.

"With kids, Tommy, I ain't mistaken how you two's lookin' at each other," Salieri grinned. "I trust you'll have better luck than me an' Gia. An' if you do, I can tell you now you're gonna have a lot of visitin' to deal with. Frank can attest to that.

"Now," Salieri laid down. "Danny. What is the biggest problem in this town? It's closer to NYC than Lost Heaven, but it gets less Triumvirate visits than we do, so I wanna take advantage of that."

"Uh... maybe the gangs, but the most obvious one is the container ship," Danny said, still a bit dazed. "Shipping went to hell with Leviathan, but it went to utter shit when our deep water passage was blocked."

"Okay," Salieri said. "Luigi, telephone, grazia."

The older Italian-American man dialed a number. "Hello, Rebecca. I'm happy to talk with you again. Yes, I'm calling in that favour you owe me."

The answer did not please the Don. "You owe me."

And that answer pissed the past-middle-age man even more. "Damn straight you owe me! If I hadn't contacted the woman my father put through medical college, you would be in a goddamn pine BOX right now!"

Some more noise came through the telephone, before Don Salieri slammed it down. After a moment, he looked up at Taylor and Danny. "I apologise for my unseemly behaviour, Taylor, but it seems that some people just don't got no gratitude."

Stopping to let his anger go, or at least the most obvious outward signs, Salieri finally picked up the telephone handset to dial a different number.

"Paul! How you doin'? I'm doin' fine. You got to come by the bar more often - Luigi worried you gettin' too skinny! Anyway, two things.

"First thing, I need a ship moved. Big bastard, maybe too big. I know your word's good, if you think you can't do it, I know it can't be done.

"Second thing. I hate to drop this on you, but Rebecca torn up her ration card. If anyone touches any Wards, they're gonna answer to me, but I tell you now, Paul, the gloves're comin' off for the Protectorate an' PRT."

"I know! But I don't approve of no disrespect. If she apologises... then maybe. But it was a hell of a thing. Now, you and Arthur, next visit you have to Salieri's Bar, it's on me. And the wine too, and I told Luigi that you're to get the good stuff. But I'm still pissed at Rebecca."

"Alright, an' you take care."


	2. Worm Mad Max

(War Boy scouting party discover portal between world of Mad Max and Earth Bet)

* * *

(Scouting party explore Brockton Bay)

* * *

(War Boy trades for a bag of cocaine from Merchant drugdealer, told that it will make him feel better and all his tumour-related half-life problems go away)

* * *

(War Boy found dead in citadel of overdose)  
(Other boys don't know WTF is going on, Joe and Organic Mechanic recognise pre-apocalypse narcotics (post-apocalypse, ain't no one got time for that), Joe announces that the Boy was poisoned and denied the Chrome Death on the Fury Road by the Merchants, declares war)

* * *

The driver looked down from the hillside where he had the Doof Wagon parked, and pulled out a very tatty set of earmuffs.

For years, the Doof Wagon had had a dirty little secret that only Joe and the Soundfingers responsible for maintaining it's electronics had known about. Most of the solid state amplifiers powering the two wings of speakers hanging from the side of the MAZ 543 truck were completely blown and dead. Most of the still working solid state amplifiers had serious problems. A few of the Marshall thermionic valve amps powering the main speakerstacks behind Coma were completely shot with burnt-out transformers, and all of the others had biasing issues with the power valves, and a host of other problems. The Soundfingers had compensated for it by having all the working (and semi-working) amps going full blast, full time. Even then, they wound up replacing speakers from the two wings on a constant basis from the dwindling stockpile that the Citadel had.

When the portal between the world of the Citadel and the world of Earth Bet had been established, the first thing that Coma and the Soundfingers had asked for was to take the entire lot to an electronics store in Brockton Bay and try and trade them in for new, more powerful amplifiers.

Shockingly, the old guitar valve amps actually sold for enough to pay for both the new valve amps, plus a host of new solid state amps. The explanation given was that old amps with that kind of story sold for amazing amounts of money to rich would-be guitarists.

So, when Immortan Joe gave the order to signal the various teams of War Boys to begin, it was a hell of a lot louder than anyone (including Coma) expected. The Drummers actually paused for a moment at the sheer power beneath their drumskins.

* * *

Furiousa looked up when she first heard a series of drumbeats, running through the killswitches on the War Rig's dashboard (and under it.) As Coma was beginning his staccato snarly intro riffs, she reached down to the floor, and pulled the White Ball, rather than the Eight Ball. As two thousand horsepower of nitro-boosted engines started to shake the Tatra's chassis, the huge cowcatcher mounted on hydraulic arms in front of the engine slowly rose, until Furiousa left the White Ball sitting at an angle above the floor.

The Half Life V8 War Boys positioned along the War Rig started to chant, checking their machine guns. Usually, for a Supply Run, the equipment taken from the Citadel's Armoury would be fairly minimal, but for this War Run, it was fully laden, both with bullets and Boys. The Fuel Pod was left behind (being too vulnerable, a big metal ball of Guzzolene screaming 'Target me!'), and War Boys were positioned in the Beatle mounted at the back (with four heavy machine guns, two pointed behind the War Rig, two pointing at either side), six on the Forward Turret at the front of the Tanker (with three on each side, covering angles of fire), and Boys inside the War Rig's Cab, with light and sub machineguns. War Pups were inside the hidden compartment in the Tanker itself, ready to pass more boxes of belt-fed bullets to the War Boys in the turrets up top.

As Furiousa accelerated the Rig, she reached up and pulled the horn.

Ace screamed from the running board beside the cab, "Ready arms! Ready arms! V8! V8!"

With a huge, massive CRASH! The cowcatcher, lifted up from it's normal position, slammed the tall wooden gates protecting the Merchants' compound aside easily, Furiousa keeping her foot on the accelerator as the massive war machine kept going across the courtyard to slam into the grille of Squealer's latest mechanical Tinker creation, the cowcatcher completely destroying the radiator and damaging large portions of the engine itself as the reinforced original bumper of the War Rig stopped Furiousa from going too far forward.

Even if one ignored the metallic screeching, it still would have been impossible to hear anything at all, as a dozen different heavy machineguns started firing the moment the Rig slammed through the gates. Merchants fell by the score as the escorts behind the War Rig slewed into a sliding halt in the empty spaces, with War Boys jumping from the rear and front lancing positions to go into the rundown buildings with semi-automatic firearms from the Bullet Farm's Arsenal.

"FIND THE DAUGHTER!" Ace screamed. "BRING THE POISON AND IMMORTAN'S TRIBUTE HERE! BRING THE DAUGHTER! POISON! TRIBUTE! GO! GO!"

Loud noises indicated where more Merchants (either high, smart enough to hide, or stupid enough to try and bargain) were being shot inside, with a growing stream of Boys bring both cash and drugs back to the Courtyard. The cash was handed up to the War Pups to store in now-empty ammo cans, while the drugs were all placed into a pile on top of three old car tires, with a War Boy pouring Guzzolene in liberal amounts on top. The only survivor was a struggling Squealer, who had been bound hand and foot with an oily rag gagging her. She, too, was handed up to the Pups, who were joined by two Boys to keep an eye on the Daughter of the V8. They hoped that she would be able to overcome the poison that these Merchant murderers had fed her.

Furiousa got out of the cab, picking up a gasmask and a rare box of matches with her. In the old world, they were increasingly rare. She walked over to the pile of drugs.

"Ace, how are we doing?"

"RATTLE YER DAGS! WE AIN'T FUCKIN' EACH OTHER'S BUM 'OLES 'ERE! THAT ALL THEY GOT BOYS?!"

As the last Boy ran out of the last shed, Ace turned to Furiousa. "Imperator, that's all of it."

"Good," Furiosa said. She lifted her voice. "Now, I purify this poison with holy Guzzolene, the fuel of V8!"

The War Boys lifted their arms in salute. "V8! V8! V8!"

Furiousa lifted the gasmask to her face, and dropped a lit match to the pile of car tyres, drugs (not an inconsiderable amount), and guzzolene (almost certainly more than the People Eater would have liked them to use.)

She ran back to the War Rig's cab, pulling the horn to indicate retreat as she threw it into reverse, backing it through the ruins of the gate with ease of practice as she slammed the White Ball back to the floor of the cab, cowcatcher returning to it's normal position.

* * *

(Account of teams of War Boys attacking Merchant safehouses)

* * *

Kaiser grimaced, slightly, looking around the bar. Bar was putting it  
politely - Somer's Rock was a dive, and even that was being nice. But  
it was unobtrusive, and had been neutral ground for a long time. Perfect  
for a quiet council.

Until a faint noise became a noticeable noise, then graduated to a very  
loud noise.

Kaiser nodded sharply at one of his two footsoldiers. (Bringing many  
armed men into a council never worked. The council always devolved into  
dickwaving and the inevitable gunbattle.)

The man poked his head out the door, and then turned. "Monster truck!  
He's come in a monster truck!"

Kaiser rose from the table in the center of the bar and strode to the  
door, where he opened it entirely. Poking /his/ head out was unbecoming  
for Kaiser of the Empire Eighty Eight.

The man he'd requested a meeting with had come in what looked like the  
result of a monster truck and a pair of fifties Chevrolet having a wild  
threesome. The damn thing had what looked like two bigblock engines, and  
four massive tractor tyres, each easily five foot in diameter.

On the rear axle, alone, all four tractor tyres, in addition to the  
wheels on the front of the damn thing.

Max resisted the temptation to hide his face in his hand, eye twitching  
a few times anyway. So much for a quiet, anonymous meeting. If this  
wasn't on that damned Parahumans Online website (as well as Stormfront)  
in an hour's time or less, he'd eat his damn armour.

* * *

"Greetings, Kaiser," the man rumbled through the mask he wore. To  
Kaiser's eye, it looked suspiciously like some kind of air inhaler and  
purifier, going by the bellows mounted to the back of the man's armour.  
The horse teeth were a nice touch, though.

"Immortan Joe," Kaiser intoned, inclining his head.

"I will begin with setting out initial conditions that there are no  
argument on," Joe said firmly. "Firstly, we will be happy to foster your  
heir, and train him in the ways of war and V8."

Behind him, Immortan's two soldiers raised their hands above their head  
in an odd salute, weaving fingers together in an inverted V. One was  
easily identified to Kaiser as an old soldier, wily, canny, undoubtedly  
a crack shot with reflexes like a greased snake. The other was a woman  
with short shaved hair, and black grease across her forehead, although  
her most defining feature was her artificial left arm, made of what  
looked like junkyard tatt welded together.

With Immortan Joe's vehicle fleet, Kaiser would almost have suspected  
the female, 'Furiosa' to be Joe's first Tinker (the second being his  
newly acquired Squealer), were it not for the lack of a mask.

Then Joe's words caught up with him.

"My heir?!"

"Yes," Joe agreed. "As well, your first consort and her babe will be  
joining us in the Citadel. She claims to fear for the safety of your  
second-in-line, and none have ever even entered my Citadel whom I do not  
want."

Kaiser realised he was decidedly on the back foot, here. Obviously Theo  
had been abducted forcibly (not that he cared about the weak little shit  
who had never shown even the slightest bit of backbone, but the outward  
appearance of his /son/ being kidnapped was... not good to Kaiser's  
reputation), and Kayden had fled. She'd been trying to wiggle her way  
off the hook that Max had had her on for a long time, now, and by the  
look had finally found a refuge that the US Child Custody system could  
not just send bailiffs into.

Joe was being relatively kind, though, in how he'd spun it. It was being  
portrayed as solidifying an alliance that, in truth, Kaiser hadn't even  
contemplated making at all. Max had only called this meeting, a month or  
two after the Merchants had been gutted, to ascertain just how dangerous  
this newcomer was.

The real trap, though, was how Kaiser was being forced to /react/ to  
this. Everyone around him was receiving the impression that Kaiser was  
agreeing to Immortan Joe's demands. And while the Empire was strong,  
both in capes and footsoldiers with guns, Max wasn't sure it was up to  
taking down a fleet of crazies with heavy machineguns and near-religious  
fervour.

By what he could make out of Joe's face (chiefly by the crinkling around  
the damn man's eyes), the bloody warlord could TELL that Max was  
realising all this, too!

* * *

A/N: My suspicion is that Joe would let this "alliance" play out long  
enough to get enough warboys into key positions, then go full out Darth  
Vader Jedi Purge, citing the quote, "Never do your enemy a small injury."


	3. Worm Dun Proppa

Taylor had been hoping and longing for someone, anyone, anyTHING, to come and rescue her (or, at the very least, let her out) of the locker she had been imprisoned in.

She would have settled for mere removal of the revolting mess in the bottom of the locker quite awhile ago.

Right after she had, the door of the locker was ripped off entirely, along with most of both sides of the locker, revealing a huge, hugely muscled green... man? His oversized head had massive yellow tusks sticking out of his mouth, red eyes, and all in all looked like someone had crossbred the Incredible Hulk with a very grumpy elephant.

"Oy, Necrork, get yer arse here an' fix da Lil' Big Boss," the figure roared at another, slightly smaller green man.

This one had a scary assortment of none-too-clean knives, along with a doctor's light magnifier on his forehead. "Ooo, I kan fix dis, wherz me 'Urty Syringe... fink I kan add some... kustomizashuns, too..."

The first figure hit the second around the head, hard. "None o' dat, fix 'er an' den ask 'er, dis's da Lil Big Boss, ya dum git."

The faintly medical greenskin looked sulky at this, and started muttering to itself as it worked on Taylor. "Korse I can do dat, I could do dat wiv no cuttybitz an' just me 'Urty Syringe..."

"Wot you lot wont?" the leader roared at the curious students who had begun to watch the scene, with the unerring instinct of Brocktonites near some sort of street theatre, complete with a few people with cellphone cameras recording. "Dat mek had betta be findin' us somewhere, and not just messin' wiv gubbins again..."

The first ork, who had been throwing grenades around with merry abandon, cowered at the ticking off he was getting from the bigger ork.

"Wot da zog wuz you FINKIN'?! You couldda hit dat littul humie, ya dum zogga! You KNOW wot da Lil Big Boss said! No hurtin' da in... inno... no hurtin' da softie humies!"

* * *

"'ILL 'OO!" the towering asian dragon, now over ten feet tall and fire aura growing, snarled at the growing Mob of Orks.

"You duz know 'ow to sweet-talk an ork like me," the tallest Ork insolently sniggered. "Boyz, dis ain't no humie, looks ta me like some kinda tard wot likes dem chaos nutters. An' dat means..."

"WAAAAGH!"

* * *

"Leave dis to da Orks," the Warboss said. "You humies ain't got da green dakka dakka to take on dis. An' da boyz are gettin' bored wiv jus' beatin' up doze tarded humies."

Alexandria looked at Eidolon. Eidolon looked at Alexandria.

Well, it wasn't like THEY cared if a bunch of bio-tinker creations committed suicide by Behemoth.

"Your... mob... have first crack," Alexandria said. "Once you've fallen, we'll send in the first wave of parahumans."

* * *

A bubbly blonde reporter in a blue pantsuit bounced slightly as the poor cameraman tried to get a five foot nothing human female and a hulking six foot six Ork in the same view, while at the same time making do with the terrible lighting in the Ork workshop, compounded by frequent actinic bursts from the smaller orks welding behind them.

"Welcome to BBTV, where we have the world's first interview with an Ork Tinker! Greetings, ah, Big Mek 'Arry?"

"Yep, datz me," a hulking, greenskinned Ork with yellowing fangs grunted. "Wots a Tinker?"

"Tinkers are parahumans, who can create amazing machinery that do things that no normal machines can do! We've seen you do that with your... custom cars, and firearms?"

"You mean da trukk and da bikez?" 'Arry asked. "I still ain't got enuff dakka and arma on 'em, but I'z getit dun. Mebbe I's a tinker, I dunno."

"Can you explain to the viewers how your amazing creations work?" the reporter asked.

The Mek dislodged the goggles on his forehead as he idly scratched his head with a spare welder he had to hand.

"I haz no idea," 'Arry said cheerfully. "I bang gubbins together, weld 'em up and they work zoggin' sweet. Maybe I iz like onuvya Tinkers, I's heard they duz the same thing."

"Boss, tell 'em about gudfink," a Ork Boy shouted from behind the camera.

'Arry threw a spanner at him in return with cheerful disregard for safety of anyone. "Shaddup! I'z doin' the talkin' 'ere!"

"What is 'gudfink'?" the reporter asked, appearing not to have noticed anything remotely hostile or antagonistic happening just now. The cameraman wished he had her aplomb.

"Dat's... well, sumtimes fings work like they should, and da boyz keep finkin' dey's gonna work, and dey duz," 'Arry didn't explain. "Dat's gudfink. Sumtimes wen a real dum mek dun bin zoggin' wiv me gubbins, da boys fink it won't work no more. Dat's badfink, and dat's wen fings stop workin'."

"So... your machines also run on happy thoughts?" the blonde smiled. Smile, smile.

"Yeah, dey's just like dem tinker fingies," 'Arry agreed.

* * *

When the interview aired, Armsmaster received a phone call from an angry Leet. He thought that Leet had enough of a point that he in turn called Dragon, and sent a message to Kid Win.

He thought of bringing in Squealer, but the thought of her and her mechanical abominations getting even any part credit for his project turned his stomach.

After explaining his plan to Dragon, she in turn suggested bringing in Accord to help plan out experiments, hypotheses, and procedures, as well as other Thinkers.

So, after failing to tell Director Piggot, or anyone in authority who might try and stop them, several Tinkers and Thinkers locked themselves into Armsmaster's Workshop of Wonders (as Clockblocker spray-painted the locked doors, after the second day), only emerging a week later armed with several scientific proofs and theses explaining several principles of physics, chemistry, and quantum physics underpinning most Tinker creations.

The group collectively won a Nobel Prize, with little to no discussion needed.

* * *

A/N: it wasn't until the interview was mostly written that I realised that the reporter sounds... either rather dim, or else damaged in some way, to be that oblivious when interviewing an Ork in his own home.


End file.
